Good Things About Comic Books #2

Man, we've really been on a music kick here at Beat It, Nerd, haven't we? And yes, I mean "we" in the royal sense. Screw you if you don't like it.

Here's something that oughta cheer you up, though -- some quality time with the subject of tonight's GTaCB:

JUDGE DREDD!

First appearing in the pages of England's 2000 AD, Judge Dredd -- better known as Joe to his close, personal friends, of which he has none -- has been patrolling the mean streets of Mega-City One since 1977. And make no mistake: He is the law!

If all you know about Dredd comes from that shitty Sly Stallone flick, then you don't know Dredd. Simple as that. For one thing, the real Judge Dredd never takes off his helmet. Ever. Okay, he did once, but they drew a "censored" bar over his face. Sly Stallone? Dude spent 9/10ths of the movie with his helmet off! What the hell is that about?

Plus, the real Dredd wears preposterously large shoulder pads. Sly's looked quite manageable, and his gloves and boots weren't green, either. I'd like to know who he thought he was fooling with that nonsense.

And don't even get me started on the whole "Judge Dredd getting a girlfriend" thing. I half expected the Easter Bunny to come hopping across the screen at that point. Might as well shoot for the moon once you've gone that far!

No, the real Dredd is nothing like the buffoon Hollywood gave us. The real Dredd is a fascist through and through, and cares for nothing save punishing the guilty. If you commit a crime in his presence -- any crime, no matter how small -- you will receive the maximum sentence allowed by law. And if that sentence is death? So much the better as far as he's concerned; it's one less perp crowding the streets!

All of which makes Judge Dredd a Good Thing about Comic Books. Sa-lute!

Stabbed For WHAT?!?

Sweet mother of christ, what kind of animals would do such a thing?! It's insanity! Look, even Angus is crying about it, and he's not the type of guy who cries easily.

A teenager who was stabbed in the eye during her school lunch break said a "gang mentality" singled out pupils for their music and fashion tastes.

[...]

"Somebody asked me on the first day what kind of music I listened to, so I said AC/DC."

She said that, as a result of this, she was told she was a "metaler" and found herself being shunned by other classmates.

This never would've happened under Bon Scott's watch. Everyone loved AC/DC back then. Everyone!

Blast From The Past

First, the embarrassing part. I've been listening to Fleetwood Mac almost exclusively for the past couple days. That's right, the Mac. Not their early, blues-driven stuff either. No. I'm talking Mick Fleetwood, John & Christine McVie, Lindsey Buckingham & Stevie Nicks. The sleazy, cocaine-driven, lover-swapping Fleetwood Mac and Rumours period. It was disgusting. Pleasurably disgusting, but disgusting nonetheless.

So tonight, as penance, I told myself, "Self, enough of this Fleetwood Mac shit. It's rotting our brain. For christ's sake, bust out some punk rock before we go crazy." I didn't have to tell myself twice, and immediately remembered something I'd been meaning to do for months: track down legendary punk band Flipper's equally legendary debut album, Album - Generic Flipper. (I do own a copy, but it's on vinyl, and my vinyl resides some 16 hours away.) Within an hour I had all but one track -- which I'm still looking for -- and kids, I'm pleased to say this disc is every bit as good as I remembered!

Beat It, Nerd gives Flipper's Album a coveted 5 out of 5 stars.

If you know nothing about Flipper, you can read more about them at Wikipedia. As for their sound, it was a very heavy, very chaotic affair, and definitely not for the weak of heart. I hate making "tastes like chicken"-type comparisons, but if you're into that kind of thing then they were like early Sonic Youth mixed with the Germs. Henceforth, they'll be known to me as the anti-Fleetwood Mac.


Interesting note about Album: It was released in 1982. In 1986, Public Image Ltd. (led by former Sex Pistol Johnny Rotten/Lydon) released an album called, ahem, Album. That was the name for its vinyl version, with the cassette and CD versions being called Cassette and Compact Disc, respectively. Though the packaging looked nothing like Flipper's Album -- but did look like all the generic products in 1984's Repo Man flick -- the concept similarity was close enough that Flipper retaliated with the double-live Public Flipper Limited. True story!

Goddamn I Hate Being An Agent Of The Man

Nothing but a half-assed post for you fine readers. Why? Because I had to do employee evaluations tonight. Why? Because I'm in low-middle management. Why? Because I goofed off too much in college, barely graduating with a "C" average in English. English! What the hell was I thinking?!

Whatever. For the record, college was a blast. Writing employee evaluations? Not so much.

As with most things business-related, it seems these evaluations were a lot easier back in the 1970s. Boss calls dude/dudette into his office around raise time, and one of two things happens: A) The boss says, "Schmitty, you're doing a swell job -- you're getting a raise!" or B) The boss says, "Schmitty, you're really stinking up the place -- no raise for you!" No paperwork, no decimal-pointed scoring systems, no bullshit.

Plus, if it were still the '70s a guy with my job could afford to buy a house. Good luck doing that now, guy!

Awesome Album Covers #2

I won't lie to you: I've been on a Pink Floyd kick lately. It was spurred by a recent report about late Floyd co-founder Syd Barrett's useless crap being auctioned off, and culminated in me finally getting the last piece of what I consider the Floyd Canon*: Music from the Film 'More', a.k.a More. Not a Syd album, true, but I already had those. And for the record, More is every bit as excellent as I remembered it being back in college; The Wall isn't fit to wipe its ass.

Anyhow, if the above leads you to believe that tonight's Awesome Album Cover will come from the Floyd family, then your senses serve you well. Problem is, while the stuff inside Floyd records is almost always gold, the covers often leave much to be desired. Especially when you're dealing with covers from their Golden Age (read: everything pre-Dark Side of the Moon. What can I say, I'm old school).

Fortunately, there's one from that period that meets Awesome Album Covers' strict criteria. Ladies and gentlemen, I give you:

Pink Floyd's
Atom Heart Mother!

What words could I possibly type that could match the confusion generated by running down to your local record store to drop your hard-earned allowance on the first new Pink Floyd release of the 1970s, only to be greeted by this grade-A Holstein? (And no, I'm not old enough to have done that.)

None, my friends. Which is why Atom Heart Mother has an Awesome Album Cover! Sa-lute!

----------
* All the non-greatest hits studio albums from The Piper at the Gates of Dawn through The Wall, and that last one is just one bad note from being added to my "apocryphal" list.

The Avenging Stamp, Part II

Well, looks like fans are speculating their asses off as to what images will be used on these Marvel stamps. In fact, one of them even came up with his/her own Spider-Woman stamp designs. Following his lead, and stealing his stamp template, I whipped up the following suggestions for the Post Master General re: Sub-Mariner's first-class postage. First up are the two I'd go with if I had my druthers:

Nice, huh? For the cover, we have a classic Silver Age "Angry Namor," attacking the terrified masses of downtown Manhattan, with a solo image lifted from John Buscema's cover to 1968's Sub-Mariner (vol. 2) #1. Of course, The Powers That Be will probably balk at the idea of a stamp depicting a Speedo-clad madman attacking New York City, so we have the following alternatives:

Not too shabby! The iconic Buscema image is still included (and presented in all its glory), while the solo version captures Namor at his angriest. That said, all four of these ignore Subby's Golden Age career, so here's a couple for the real old-timers in the crowd:

Yow! Sub-Mariner "running wild," and a triangle-headed solo shot to boot! What more could you ask for? True, some Nazis in the cover shot would be nice, but there's something about that "Runs Wild!" cover that can't be beat.

The Avenging Stamp

Sweet f'ing mercy! Newsarama reports that Marvel Comics will get its own line of USPS stamps in 2007, following the DC Comics stamps released earlier this year. What amazes me is that Sub-Mariner made the list. Sub-Mariner!!!

Not only is he on it, but he beat out such characters as Daredevil, Dr. Strange, Thor, and a ton of other more recognizable faces. Which is fine by me, 'cause Sub-Mariner is one of my all-time faves, and will no doubt be the focus of an upcoming "Good Things about Comic Books." Imperius motherf'ing Rex, indeed!

Anyways, here's the full list:

• Spider-Man
• The Incredible Hulk
• Sub-Mariner, a.k.a. Prince Namor, a.k.a. the Avenging Son of Atlantis, a.k.a. the Dude Who Will Kick Your Ass If You Make Fun Of His Foot Wings -- Imperius Rex!
• The Thing
• Captain America
• Silver Surfer
• Spider-Woman
• Iron Man
• Elektra
• Wolverine

And note that each of the characters gets two stamps: one of the hero itself, and another featuring one of the hero's most memorable comic book covers. Two street-legal Sub-Mariner stamps! Who could've predicted that?! As for Subby's cover, I'm voting for this one. Why? Because! When was the last time you saw someone giving it to the Nazis on a U.S. stamp? Never? Then it's about time!

Those Who Can, Write; Those Who Can't, Write

Fellow On Time!-er The Far North End has tipped me off to horrible new technology that might make it possible for people to type by thinking. I call bullshit on that, as there are already far too many people writing who have no business doing so. Anyone who's ever taken a creative writing course in college can tell you that.

Unless you were one of the people in the class who couldn't write. In which case you were probably amazed by the high levels of writing talent found at your college. Idiot.

Fact is, just as with illustration, music and other art forms, some people have the talent to write, and some don't. No amount of classroom hours or practice will make a difference if you're in the latter camp. Yet writing seems to attract a higher number of "can't but think they can" types than any of its peers. Must be the easy-to-use interface and lack of required special equipment, especially with the rise of free online publishing. "Can'ts" don't chase dreams of being violinists for long, that's for sure.

If there was just some way to prove my point. Like, a website used by millions of people who think they can write when it's painfully obvious they cannot. You know, some place on the Web where people could leave "logs" about their daily lives for others to read. I bet that would attract bad writers in droves.

Ah well, guess you folks will just have to take my word for it. Shelton out.

Interesting Numbers

Morning kids. Have you ever checked out the RIAA (Recording Industry Association of America) website? There's some interesting data available there. For example, I just found out that only 22 music groups/solo artists are in the "50 Mil" club -- meaning, have sold more than 50 million units in the U.S. (I'm sure the number goes up worldwide, but I didn't find that chart yet).

You can find the whole list of top U.S. artists here. Strange stuff, no? Nice to see my boys Pink Floyd and AC/DC representing in the Top 10, but I didn't realize they were both bigger sellers than the Rolling Stones at #11. Other highlights:

• U2 and Kenny Rogers have the exact same levels of consumer appeal. Take that, Bono!

• Why is Michael Jackson ever referred to by his self-appointed "King of Pop" title when Billy Joel and Elton John also sing pop and have sold more records than him?

• How is it that Garth Brooks outsells George Strait by a 2-to-1 margin, and how is he the #3 best-selling artist of all time? And why hasn't Johnny Cash outsold them both combined? What the hell is wrong with you mainstream country fans?

Also of note are groups that didn't make the chart at all, especially considering that the cut-off is 10.5 million albums. You're telling me there aren't at least 10.5 million Americans (in a country of nearly 290 million) who have bought at least one Ramones album in the past 30 years? Preposterous!

Awesome Album Covers #1

Here's a second recurring feature for you Beat It, Nerd readers: Awesome Album Covers! There's been a damn lot of them, and we're going to start things off with one of my faves -- and one you may have overlooked:

Bob Dylan's
John Wesley Harding!

If you're not already familiar with this seemingly normal album cover, you're probably saying to yourself, "What the hell's so awesome about that? Looks pretty boring to me, you dipshit." At a distance, sure. But lets zoom into that center picture, shall we?

What the? I mean, that's Dylan in the middle, sure enough... but who are the rest of those guys?! Is that his band? Was he jamming with an Indian dude, an old guy and Horatio Sanz's dad on this record? And is that cowbow hat at the bottom resting on something, or is a midget wearing it? All I know is, I wouldn't know what to do if I opened my door one day and found these geeks waiting on the other side.

Unfortunately, those dudes weren't his band, but it doesn't stop John Wesley Harding from having an Awesome Album Cover! Sa-lute!

I've Found A New Favorite Bar

Shelton here, reporting live from my living room after drinks with some co-workers at my new favorite bar: the one in the Holiday Inn behind my office building. Yeah, that's right, I said "in the Holiday Inn." I know, I can hardly believe it myself.

But, shit. I'm not a young man anymore. I'll complete my 36th trip around the sun a week from Sunday, which means my tastes no longer run in the trendy direction. Then again, they never did; they've always run in the dive-y direction. Not anymore. Now when I need an after-work drink, I'll make a beeline to the Holiday Inn's Martini Bar, where the only thing more enticing than their 5-7 happy hour is the cocktail waitress, Alex.

That's right, Alex, which I can only assume is short for Alexia or something equally scintillating. This voluptuous brunette bombshell is from Romania, and is spending the summer in the U.S. on a work exchange program. What kind of work exchange program involves being a cocktail waitress at a Holiday Inn, I do not know. Nor do I care, presuming she keeps the drinks and legginess flowing.

Oh, and did I mention her outfit? Slinky black skirt approximately 2 sizes too small, inexplicably cut up the left side to a point that extends above the top of the skirt itself. Try wrapping your head around that. Then add in an satiny white shirt, also too small, showing ample bosom and belly. Yeah, exactly.

Sad part is, Alex has to go back to Romania in less than a month. But there's good news -- once she gets her degree in civil engineering, she's coming back to the U.S.! That's frikkin' awesome!

Wait. I just wrote nearly 300 words admitting that, on a Friday night, I went to a Holiday Inn with co-workers and ogled a Romanian cocktail waitress while downing $2.50 Heinekins. Well, buy the ticket take the ride, as Hunter Thompson once said. And with that, he pushed the "Publish Post" button.

Exclusive Interview With Daunte Culpepper

Yeah, so the 2006 NFL season gets underway in just over two weeks, and the Miami Dolphins are once again looking like the team to beat. Moreover, the Super Bowl will be played in Miami this year, making the 'Phins a shoo-in to be the first-ever team to win a league championship in their home stadium. To get you prepped for all the coming excitement, Beat It, Nerd caught up with new Miami quarterback Daunte Culpepper for this hard-hitting interview:

Beat It, Nerd: Hey.

Daunte Culpepper: Hey.

BIN: So, uh, welcome to the Dolphins!

DC: Thanks.

BIN: No, thank you.

DC: [nods head]

BIN: So, how do you like the Dolphins' chances this year?

DC: I like them a lot. We're going to march on a road of bones, man. Heads will roll. Count on it.

BIN: Yeah, cool. Oh, and I see you switched to number eight. You know, after wearing number eleven in Minnesota.

DC: Naw, dawg. That ain't number eight. That's the infinity symbol.

BIN: Wait, the infinity symbol?

DC: Yep.

BIN: But that would make you...

DC: Right. Number Infinity.

BIN: Whoa.

DC: Uh-huh.

BIN: Is that even legal?

DC: Guess we'll find out, won't we?

There you have it, folks -- Daunte Culpepper, wearing the infinity symbol on his chest and not giving two shits if anyone finds out! Is this going to be a great season, or what?!?

Never Mind That Pop Candy Chick

Yeah, so anyway, over at Beat It, Nerd's On Time! blog ring partner, The Far North End, they're singing the praises of USA Today's insufferable pop culture crone, Whitney Matheson. Nuts to her, I say. I'd as soon read Family Circus than her column.

Why? Because the woman stole Harvey Pekar's eyebrows!

See? Shameful. Just... shameful. And she's smirking about it!

(<--Whitney)

(Harvey-->)

Good Things About Comic Books #1

Shelton here, launching an exciting new feature at Beat It, Nerd: “Good Things about Comic Books.” Unless you’re really stupid, you can probably guess the angle.

As a little background, I technically work in the funnybook biz -- but only at its most soulless, disinteresting level -- and have had an on-again, off-again relationship with the medium since I was 5 or so. So yeah, I’ve probably formed some opinions in that time. And because I’m quite self-absorbed, I think the rest of you can’t wait to hear them! So without further adieu, here’s GTaCB’s debut subject…

JUGHEAD JONES!

Born Forsythe Pendleton Jones, this felt crown-wearing funnyman has been the smirking, smart-alecky peanut butter to Archie Andrews’ nice-guy jelly since your dad was still in short pants. Or maybe since your granddad was still in short pants, whatever. That's not the point. The point is, Jughead rules, and there's a bunch of other slacker doofuses -- Maynard T. Krebs (and his cousin Gilligan), Norville "Shaggy" Rogers, Jeff Spicoli, et al -- who owe him a big debt of gratitude.

Take his legendary hamburger-eating ability, rivaled only by Wellington J. Wimpy and the aforementioned Norville Rogers. Or the cool way he flaunts authority! Or his skills with a paint brush! Shit, dude's even in the Time Police! That's purely off the hook!!!

Plus, the blog’s title was inspired by Jughead. Thanks to the AV Club’s excellent “Decade by Decade with Archie Comics,” I came across this little gem from when Jughead became a punk rocker in the '80s:

Needing a name for this blog, I thought of that line, but mis-remembered it as the one I went with. No matter, as I prefer "Beat it" to "Back off" anyhow, and it keeps me from being a total ripoff artist. But I digress. Getting back to the point...

Sa-lute, Jughead Jones! You’re a good thing about comic books!

A Damn Fine Abraham Lincoln Quote

"Stand with anybody that stands right. Stand with him while he is right and part with him when he goes wrong."
-- Abe Lincoln

Alright, I'll come clean: for reasons that have nothing to do with this blog, Star Trek or Bill & Ted's Excellent Adventure, I've been thinking about ol' Honest Abe a good bit lately. In fact, the more observant amongst you might have noticed that, in my rant about all the free publicity for that new Samuel Jackson movie, a Google search for Abe was the first comparison I grabbed. What can I say? I like the cut of his jib.

Abe Lincoln took no shit from fools.

Take the above quote, part of a speech given on October 16, 1854, in Peoria, IL. It's Twainsian in its simple wisdom (or wise simplicity?), with just the hint of a barb thrown in for good measure. Only now that I think about it, Lincoln came before Twain, so maybe Twain's stuff should be considered Lincolnsian? Either way, I think the closest George W. Bush equivalent is "You are either with us or against us in the fight against terror." Which is really a Bizarro of Lincoln's quote; might for right vs. might makes right, and all that.

Bush, on the other hand, is a fool who gives shit to those who will take it.

But hey, I'm not here to talk politics. If you must know, I'm a socially liberal (even libertarian), fiscally conservative non-partisan voter who doesn't think the country should bomb anyone without a real damn good reason, and usually winds up voting Democrat because Republicans are against a lot of shit that I like and/or I think is wrong to be against. But if they stopped making each other richer and declaring war on hopeless 2nd/3rd-world cultures and ran a man like Abraham Lincoln again, well. I might just find myself pulling a GOP lever come election day.

Based on the current crop of Republican leaders, though, I put those chances at slightly lower than that of the Vatican okaying abortion clinics at Catholic churches. I wouldn't bet on it is what I'm saying, and I'm thinking Abe Lincoln wouldn't, either.

Oh Dear Sweet Jesus It's Hot

After a day spent out and about to avoid the harsh reality of a still-broken air conditioner, I'm back at my top secret base of operations in the Baltimore suburbs, where things have been upgraded from "hot" to "broiling." Not good.

Those who know me know I love to dwell on things that piss me off, so just to make myself feel crazy I'm going to go over the facts of the situation for the folks at home:

1) At some point on the night of July 17, my A/C broke the first time. No biggie, I thought. I've been living here 3 1/2 years, so it was bound to happen. First thing the next morning I call it into Hendersen-Webb's maintenance line, at which point I'm told "it will definitely be fixed [that day]."

2) I come home from work "that day," and the A/C wasn't fixed. In fact, no one from maintenance had even been in the apartment. (They always leave green calling cards/notes when they enter your pad.) I call maintenance again. I'm apologized to, and am assured it will be fixed the next day.

3) "The next day" comes and go with a repeat of the first day. I'm starting to feel all Bill Murray in Groundhog Day-ish.

4) Finally, on the day after the next day, maintenance comes. They don't fix the air conditioner -- it needed a new compressor, which had to be ordered -- but at least they were there.

5) On the fourth day, everything's finally fixed. Sure, it took a little longer than I might've hoped, but at least the deed was done.

6) Or so I thought. About three weeks later, on the night of Saturday, August 12, it breaks again. Good thing Hendersen-Webb has emergency weekend maintenance service, I thought. Ha! Turns out that you need to be on a special "medical emergency" list to get your A/C fixed on a weekend. Great. So I wait till Monday morning, and call maintenance again.

7) Remember #1 & #2? Yeah, they played out again on Monday and Tuesday, to the point where I'd had enough. Playing detective, I tracked down a corporate HQ number for Hendersen-Webb [(410) 628-7400], and left a blistering voicemail in which I pointed out: A) I'm a 3 1/2-year tenant who always paid his rent on time (if not early); B) They clearly hadn't fixed the A/C right the first time if it broke again 3 weeks later; C) I was sick of being told "someone will definitely be out that day" when they clearly weren't; and D) There wasn't a chance in hell I was renewing my lease in a few months if someone didn't get out there and fix my A/C the next day. Then I went to bed, and had yet another sweaty night's sleep.

8) Wednesday, 9:15 a.m.: I get a call from my apartment complex's property manager, who listens to everything I have to say and swears on the life of the baby Christ that my air conditioner will be fixed that day. Lo and behold, five hours later I get a phone call confirming this promise. I get home, and sure enough it's colder than a witch's tit. Outstanding.

9) Until Thursday night, when the A/C breaks for the third time in less than a month! The only saving grace is, thanks to Caller ID I now have the property manager's direct line. Which I use first thing the next morning.

10) It's the next morning, and the property manager is flabbergasted. The chief maintenance officer or whatever is right there with her, and the dude is on the way to my apartment as I speak. He'd better be, I think to myself.

11) After work, I go out for drinks and to see, uh, that movie about flying serpents that's getting all the free publicity. I get home around 12:30, 1 in the morning, and guess what? NO GODDAMNED AIR CONDITIONING! Which means I'm now facing, at the very least, an additional weekend of hot air on top of everything that had come before. I call the corporate number again, leave a rambling, semi-profane voicemail about my plans for legal action and lease breakage, then call it a night.

12) So here we are on Sunday, and I've now gone 11 days without A/C in July and August, despite the fact that I'm paying rent for an apartment with working A/C. Despite the fact they clearly can't fix the thing, there has been no talk of installing a new unit. There have also been no offers of a window or portable A/C unit, or temporary lodging in an apartment with a working unit -- not even a reduction in next month's rent! Just nearly two weeks of hot, hot, hot, with no firm end in sight.

So a big middle finger for Hendersen-Webb. If you read in Tuesday's papers about their offices being firebombed, you can take that as a sign that I still don't have cold air. Those fuckers.

Open Letter To Angus & Malcolm Young

Dear Los Bros. Young:

As you may or may not have noticed, it’s now mid-August 2006. Why is this significant? Because you’d promised a new album this year, and guess what? The year’s almost over, and you haven’t even so much as stepped foot in a studio. Which makes me think that you might have what the French call “ze cold feet.”

Back in their Bon Scott days, AC/DC played a show so loudly that 17 audience members' heads exploded in the first 20 minutes. Fortunately, all 17 casualties turned out to be evil shapeshifting aliens, marking the first of many times the world was saved by this remarkable band.

Not that I can blame you. Don’t get me wrong: you’ve put out some of the best damn albums in the history of rock ‘n’ roll. I mean, you guys even beat the infamous Three-Good-Records-Tops Curse that seems to strike 99% of all bands. T.N.T., Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap, Let There Be Rock, Powerage, Highway to Hell. Pure gold, every one of them. Even that first Brian Johnson album, what do you call it, Back in Black. Not your best work by any means, but listenable.

But then, well. Each successive release just got worse and worse, didn't it? Culminating with the steaming pile of crap that was 2000’s Stiff Upper Lip. Why? I put the blame squarely on Brian Johnson’s shoulders. Just look at him! His limited vocal range and asinine song writing are bad enough, but what really puts the stripe on the skunk is that stupid, ever-present, Fred Sanford-style cap. Frankly, if he were my lead singer I’d have cold feet about going back into the studio, too.

Brian Johnson is so fucking stupid that he once showed up to sing at a Guns N' Roses concert by mistake. Needless to say, he was resoundingly booed off the stage.

After hearing all that you’re probably thinking, “Why does he even care if we go back into the studio? He clearly hates everything we’ve done in the past 25 years anyhow.” Guilty as charged. But every now and then, some old, washed-up band that hasn’t had a decent album in ages finds a way to reach deep inside the flabby modern incarnations of themselves and pull out the inner screaming demon of rock ‘n’ roll that made them great to begin with. Personally, I think you can be one of those bands, and I’d love to hear the results.

That said, don’t even bother if you plan on bringing Johnson into the studio with you. He’s a bloated, talentless lamprey sucking off your shark-esque twin guitar power, and hasn’t even written any lyrics since ‘88’s Blow Up Your Video. No. Best thing to do is fire his lame ass, then either hire a hungry young new singer/songwriter, or -- and I’m sure I don’t need to point out the genius in this move -- bring in former Sex Pistols frontman Johnny Rotten. Eh? No less than 12 major world cities would be in flames within hours of that announcement, lads. Think about it.

I guess that's it. Oh, and if maybe we could hang out some time, you know, and maybe you could show me some hot guitar licks, whatever, that would be pretty sweet. But, you know, I’m not expecting it or anything. No pressure.

Your fan,
Shelton

What Was Top Of The Pops When You Were Popped?

Shelton here, reporting from the un-air-conditioned hellhole that is my top secret base of operations in the Baltimore suburbs. The A/C unit has broken down three times since July 17. This has caused me to go a total of 10 days in the past month without cold air, and it'll be up to a dozen by the end of the weekend. Primarily due to the incompetence of the Hendersen-Webb apartment management group. So, if you're ever thinking of renting from Hendersen-Webb, take my advice and don't.

But that's not the point. The point is, I just found a website that tells you what the #1 song was on the day you were born, in the U.S. or the U.K.! I'd like to see someone come up with a better birthday song than mine -- Edwin Star's "War" (in the U.S.)! Over in England it was "The Wonder of You" by Elvis Presley. Not bad, but no "War."

Alright. I'm off to gnash my teeth some more about this no air-conditioning thing. Maybe I'll also leave some more sternly worded voicemail messages at Hendersen-Webb's offices. Now that I think about it, should any readers wish to express your displeasure at HW for letting a tenant go at least 2 weeks without A/C in July & August, especially when said tenant pays rent for an air-conditioned apartment, you can do so at (410) 628-7400. Tell 'em Shelton sent you.

I've Had It With This Motherf'ing Free Hype For The Motherf'ing Man

Don't get me wrong. I like Samuel L. Jackson as much as the next movie fan. Would love to hear what he really thinks about those horrible Star Wars flicks he got suckered into doing. (Same goes for Ewan MacGregor on that point... and speaking of which, where'd he go since Sith? Don't tell me the Star Wars curse has struck again!)

But what the fuck is with all the free bandwidth you people keep giving to New Line to promote its new movie? You know, the one about the aeroplane stuffed to the gills with legless reptiles. That one.

Samuel L. Jackson isn't the problem, people giving free publicity to a multi-billion-dollar movie studio -- and then paying to see their movie -- is the problem.

As of right now, a specific Google search for, uh, "that movie's title" (in quotes) turns up 18,300,000 pages. Abraham Lincoln? 23 million. That's right. Dude's on Mt. Rushmore, the five-dollar bill, the penny, classic Star Trek and Bill & Ted's Excellent Adventure, and he gets less than 5 million pages more than a movie about, you know, those things on the thing. And in what I find to be an even more startling statistic, the Sex Pistols only net 6,260,000 pages! The frikkin' Sex Pistols! Just 1/3 as page-worthy as a movie co-starring a bunch of badly CGI-ed serpents!

For the most part, those 18,300,000 pages are the result of millions of John Q. Publics spending millions of hours making electronic odes to a B-movie that no one's even seen yet. And who primarily benefits from that labor of love? New Line Cinema, the studio that bankrolled the movie and will reap the profits when it inevitably emerges as the nation's #1 film. I'm sure they appreciate your efforts.

Not that I'm not going to see it, mind you. Like I said, I'm a Jackson fan, and I can't blame him for having it with those motherfucking things. I'm just not lifting a finger to help a bunch of fat cats get fatter. Especially considering my deep-seated hatred of cats.

Beat It, Nerd

Hi folks, the name's Shelton. I'm new to this whole blogging thing -- just as the fad seems to be dying out, might I add. That said, I bring something to the table that most bloggers don't: actual writing skills. See? I just strung together three sentences without any punctuation or grammatical errors. Can your average blogger do that? Fuck no, my friends. Fuck no.

But hey, I'm not here to discuss society's continuing decline into illiteracy. That's not my beat. See, Jesus once came to me in a dream. He said, "Shelton? If you're going to waste time writing, for fuck's sake write what you know." Then he turned into an owl and flew out the window, never to be seen again.

So I guess that's what I'll be doing here. But mostly I'm doing it to meet blog chicks. You know, like Ana Marie Cox. I hear she's hot. And into anal. Va-va-va-voom.